


Whispers In The Dark

by Erisandmira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Codependency, Kind Harry Potter, M/M, Possession, Possessive Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle is not a good person, Tom is not human, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21699031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erisandmira/pseuds/Erisandmira
Summary: Harry Potter sees and hears things that aren't there – shouldn’t be there. Unfortunately, Tom likes that description about as much as he likes being ignored.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	Whispers In The Dark

Along with nightfall came sweet whispers and false promises, luring one to think their evil deeds were hidden, tucked away under the darkness. The cold coaxes heat from tired muscles until they can rest no more, stealing the pink blush of the skin and replacing it with blue.

Harry wrapped his arms tighter around himself and sighed. Although he had slept most of the day he still felt bone-weary and muddled. Perhaps more so. _I’m withering_ , Harry mused, _withering and disappearing and fading away like I never existed._

Involuntarily, Harry’s mouth twisted into a humorless smile – because of course not, _he_ would never let it go **that** far. He would lead Harry to the edge, giving him glimpse of the abyss, but only to force Harry to cling to him.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” a familiar voice drawled, “not when there are better ways to spend this night.”

Gazing up at the stars, Harry pondered if his constant-shadow was referring to the bitter thoughts or the location. Probably both. That thing never restricted itself to one option. Greedy and possessive bastard. Harry scoffed, “That’s rich coming from you, Tom.”

A dark chuckle filled the air and Tom stepped closer, dipping into Harry’s space. His tall frame writhed with the shadows, an air of seductive mystery clung to him, and his dark eyes sent shivers down Harry’s spine (and burned his insides).

“A bit hostile, aren’t we?” Tom sounded pleased, his smile sharp in the edges, and Harry could taste the anticipation in the air, Tom’s never-ending hunger for violence. Broken skin never lies and Tom _loved_ to mark him (again, again and again). Dark eyes would gleam like a knife poised to strike and soft kisses always followed the pain.

Harry’s breath misted in the cold air while Tom’s was as non-existing as always. The green-eyed man glanced down, seeing the river far, far below the bridge. If he fell, how long would it take be before he hit the water? Would it hurt? It was too dark, too deep for Harry not to be scared by the thought.

“Tom,” Harry said softly, unable to help himself, “I’m tired.”

Exasperation flickered in Tom’s eyes, quickly followed by a pretty smile, “I’ll always catch you when you fall.”

It was said without a hint of irony, like Tom wasn’t the one who kept pushing Harry over.

* * *

_Many, many years earlier_

Harry’s first memory of Tom was coated with smell of summer grass and the song of crickets.

Aunty had wanted him out. Gone. As quick as possible. No excuses! Nor could he ask for food or drinks, it didn’t matter that he hadn’t eaten anything that day and that the sun was scorching the earth. Out now! Out!

He couldn’t never remember the reason she threw him out that day; it might have been because he burned some toasts or maybe it was because his cousin Dudley had blamed him for something or that he had annoyed his uncle, or any other unimportant reason. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter, it was neither the first or last time Harry was banished outside.

The small boy had wandered to a park at the edge of the neighborhood, walking till his small feet hurt and he felt almost dizzy with warmth. The five-year sought shelter underneath a giant oak tree that seemed to stretch into the sky. Oddly enough, Harry felt safe and protected. After staring very, very hard, Harry swore he could see a face in tree bark. A kind, grandfatherly face. Or maybe wizardly? Fascinated by the idea, Harry imagined that a powerful wizard had been trapped inside the tree and only a pure-hearted hero could save him.

_What if he is trapped there for a reason? Would it be wise to free him?_ The wind whispered softly. 

Harry frown, thinking it was very odd of the wind to talk, it had never happened before. He looked around to see if there was anyone close by, but he saw nothing. Biting his lips, Harry hesitantly answered, “It could be a silly reason.”

Like when the Dursley shoved him inside the cupboard, they had many reasons that could be summarized by one would; freak. Suddenly, Harry felt very sorry for the trapped wizard. Being stuck inside a tree must be terrible, perhaps worse than his cupboard, and he might have been there in ages!

“I’ll free you,” Harry vowed determinately.

The shadows of the three stretched further despite the sun standing still.

_Which one of us?_

* * *

Twice, maybe thrice a day, Harry would check under the bed (his and everyone else’s) and open every closet. He would see gimps of feet and dark hair, but blink the image would disappear. His blanket would feel heavier at night, as if something was above it, clinging to him.

Someone was with him, all the time, hiding inside dark corners. This should scare Harry, and yet, he just felt strangely happy for not being alone.

_And you’ll never be again._

* * *

It had been a lovely autumn day, the breeze carried scarlet and gold, playfully dancing in the soft light, colors kindled for all who care to see. But it was not the leaves that caught Harry’s attention, for when he looked up he saw a boy lounging on his tree. A thin, dark haired boy who looked to be about Harry’s age.

Harry felt worried and excited at the same time, a combination that made his tummy hurt and his words come out a stuttering mess, “H-hey! That’s m-my tree.”

It was not what he had intended to say, if anything Harry was happy to see another kid like him, one he hadn’t meet before – or more importantly, one Dudley hadn’t.

Surprisingly, the other boy glanced down at him, somehow hearing Harry’s mumbling. For a moment, he just stared at Harry, black eyes drinking him greedily, then he gestured for Harry to come up.

* * *

“I’m Harry! Who are you?”

The other boy held himself very rigidly, like a miniature soldier or a wind-up toy, and tilted his head to the side, “Who am I? Let’s Why don’t you take a guess _Harry_?”

Harry wrinkled his nose, “Why?”

“Think of it as a game,” The other boy smiled indulgently.

* * *

Petunia Dursley was a sensible sort of woman. When she was younger, people always said that hesitantly, in that manner one does when you can’t think of anything positive to say. Not like how the described her sister as ‘lively’, ‘lovely’ or ‘charming’, full of fondness and sincerity. To say that didn’t still bother her would be lying, but self-deception was an art Petunia had mastered a long time ago. So, it didn’t bother her.

What bothered her on the other hand, was the odd behavior that boy ~~(her nephew)~~ was engaging in latterly. She would catch him having conversations with himself, smiling and gesturing to empty air. Unnatural. Wrong. Not that her husband agreed, aside from cuffing the boy across the head when he dared having one of those odd one sided conversation in the dinner table, her husband remained stubbornly indifferent.

“Kids are stupid at that age, they make up stuff all the time,” Vernon spook with a gruff voice “we can’t expect better from a freak like him.”

Her husband was usually right, usually, but in this matter, he was woefully incorrect. There was something off and Petunia would get at bottom of it or God help her nephew.

At night, she snuck out of her and Vernon’s room and she tiptoed to where the boy was – the tight cupboard. Something close to shame crept its way up her spine when she took in how small he looked, how fragile. You wouldn’t think he was a day above 3 years, scrawny to the point his bones looked like they were about to pierce his skin.

_Her nephew._

But as stated earlier, Petunia was a master at self-deception. If she couldn’t convince herself that her wrongdoings didn’t exist, she would insist they weren’t that bad. And if they were, it wasn’t her fault, or she didn’t mean it. But if she did mean it, he – whoever probably deserved it.

That boy deserved it, she had nothing to feel guilty about, they had given him a roof over his head. A less generous family would have thrown him away at an orphanage. Everyone was always telling how good they were for looking after the son of two drunkards, how kind, how Christian.

_Vibrant green eyes more beautiful than she could ever be glared at her accusingly, “Why Tuney?”_

And then –

Everything turned dark.

* * *

“I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me – annoy _you_. I can make them hurt if I want to,” he smiled prettily, the lines of his face smooth and pale, contesting lovely his dark hair.

A hint of fear tickled Harry’s body, but warm joy overrode it. After all, the other was saying it because he cared about Harry, right? He wanted to protect him from bullies, like friends do! No one had tried to help Harry before.

“I’ll protect you too!” Harry declared giddy, an idea entering his mind, “Yes, I’ll always protect you Tom.”

“…Tom?” The newly dubbed Tom sounded a bit insulted, “These guessing attempts are becoming progressively worse.”

Harry pouted, he had tried tree-like name in the beginning; like Ash, Cedar, and Aspen (a book in the library helped him a lot, though he had to ask the librarian for some help to read the words). Then he tried wizard like name and then he caught gimps of Star Wars on the telly and ‘Yoda’ was a good name no matter what h- _Tom_ said.

“I’m not guessing anymore! I’ll call you Tom and if you don’t like that….then…tell me your real name,” Harry beamed, pleased with his own cleverness.

Tom snorted.

* * *

Aunt Petunia fell down the stairs, that was what everyone was saying. How else could you explain how twisted her body became, bone piercing skin, blood gushing out.

She lived.

For a few weeks, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> So, here I'm starting a new fic when I have other to finish, but I must write what my inspiration wants me to! Reviews fuel me and pushes me to write, so please let me know your thoughts! I'm very curious if anyone else find this idea interesting too :D


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